The look Drust leveled at Mauhûr as he all but snatched the parchment from the pizdur's hand came dangerously close to earning the Man a few rounds with a truncheon. Or with Dushrûk, flexing his fists and sneering at his pizdur's side. The headman pointedly ignored the pizbûr, and gave the list a cursory glance. Then he frowned and looked again. Blinking, he met Mauhûr's steady, unaffected gaze.

"No women this time?" Drust asked uncertainly. "And only twenty-five men?"

"Yes," the Uruk pizdur confirmed. "Raids go well in Rohan; Master does not need more females at this time. Your last group of Men showed... better skill. Those who did not, require replacement."

The headman seemed to have come up for air from a lengthy time holding his breath, for he gasped as he nodded. "Very good. I am... pleased by... our Master's successes. Would you like to select..."

"Aedan will do the choosing," Mauhûr snapped, gesturing over his shoulder to a young Dunlending Man. "Dushrûk, you are with me. Drust, show me where I might find your... child."

Drust's mouth closed and he looked stricken. Jaw clenching, clearly biting back harsh words, he swallowed several times without answering.

"Must I repeat...," Mauhûr growled warningly, his brow furrowing.

"No," the Man interjected, the word huffing out of him with an explosion of breath. "No, of course not. The... the hut you... required is... it's just here." Trembling, the man led the two Uruk-hai through the village to a lone shelter standing outside the communal rings. Mauhûr narrowed his eyes.

"Why is it here?" he snarled. He didn't like this; it seemed isolated and lonely, sitting on the dusty ground far away from the nearest cookfire.

Drust chewed his lip, loathe to speak. A potent glare from the pizdur loosened his tongue. "I assumed... you would want... privacy."

Though he still didn't like it, Mauhûr couldn't define why, so he set it aside. "Is she here?" he asked unnecessarily, for he could smell her there. Or rather, he could smell her fear. It was still ferociously pungent.

"Yes, pizdur," Drust said tightly. "I beg you. Show... mercy, if it is within you. She is my only child."

"You keep her from the lottery you imposed?" Mauhûr asked provocatively. The man's eyes widened. The Uruk smirked. "I suppose you are also paid well to keep other Men's... children... from the selection, eh?"

Drust slowly shook his head. "No. It is... completely fair. Random. I would not cheat our Master..."

The pizbûr snorted. "Mannish 'fairness,'" Dushrûk mocked, spitting on the dry ground.

"See to it Fedelm is not chosen," Mauhûr told Drust pointedly. Setting his jaw firmly, he growled, "Your payment is this village. Make no mistake: she is mine. For as long as I wish to use her. When I grow weary of her, I will tell you, and she will be 'fairly' chosen. Do you understand?"

"Yes, pizdur," the headman breathed. "I... I reminded her of... of her duty. She... she will give no trouble."

"Good." Mauhûr turned from the Man, effectively dismissing him. "Remain here," he told Dushrûk. "See that I am not interrupted until we are through."

"Akhoth," the pizbûr replied, thumping his chest with a fist in salute.

As Mauhûr ducked into the shelter, he heard Dushrûk snarl, "Go on. He'll find yuh when he's done."

As soon as Mauhûr entered the shelter, he knew it was all wrong. Though neatly arranged and clean, it had no hint of Fedelm's scent in it. Her fear almost hid the absence from him, but not entirely. He scanned the interior, his frown deepening. The trinkets and clothing that were hers could not be seen. The different color of the bedding also told him this place was not hers.

After a moment, his eyes found her. She was kneeling in a corner far from the bedding, her hands upon her thighs and her head bowed. Sometimes, a hand would raise to brush away a tear, but otherwise she didn't move.

The sight of her, however, caused a curious outrush of air from the Uruk. He seemed to deflate, to release tensions he was unaware of until he laid eyes on her. She is my mate, he thought, and felt a stirring of something altogether unfamiliar. It seemed he should make himself comfortable, for he could look upon her for an age and never notice the time passing.

But the fear scent was strong, and he grimaced as he tore his gaze away. The wrongness of this place... he couldn't still his tongue, or soften his tone.

"You have not made this place your own, as I commanded," he said stiffly, and she flinched. "Explain."

His answer was renewed sobbing. Growling low, more at himself than at her, Mauhûr tried again. "I told you I wanted you in a new place. Was I not clear?"

"Please," she choked. "I am here."

Stymied by the truth of it, Mauhûr faltered for a moment. But only a moment. "Perhaps I did not make this clear: you are to live here. I want your scent in the walls, in the bedding. I want to see your possessions arrayed to show that this is your place." Confident that he'd conveyed his wishes more succinctly this time, he unbuckled his sword belt. "Fetch what is needed: I wish to be washed."

Fedelm slowly raised her head and stared at him in horror. All it took was a glance up from his buckles to move her; she rose swiftly and darted out of the hut.

Doubt assailed Mauhûr for the first time he could remember. Was Golmud right? Or was the conniving Goblin steering him in the wrong direction? He chewed on the worry as he might on tough, dry meat.

Once their task was set, his hands automatically worked buckles and shed armor plating. His hands had been at this duty too long to be diverted once his attention wandered and his thoughts filled with Fedelm. With the removal of each layer, the metal gouged and scratched from years of wear in his Master's service, he felt his tensions easing. He could breathe more freely, and deeply.

The woman returned just as he was stepping out of his leather kilt, worn under the leg plates and chest guard already neatly stacked in a corner. Her shocked gasp and the slosh of water as she nearly dropped her bucket made him turn. Lip trembling, her gaze flicked over his naked body. She was rooted to the spot and couldn't speak.

Strangely, Mauhûr felt himself straightening. His chest seemed to swell of its own accord, and his chin dipped as his eyes sought hers. Even the scowl that rested so comfortably upon his face softened, though her face showed terror. Don't yuh dare yell at'er, Golmud told him on the way here. Always act soft, look soft, and talk soft. Maybe she'll believe you can be soft, and won't be so scared of yuh.

"Fedelm," he ventured, making an effort to lower the pitch of his voice. She jumped, and her eyes darted up to meet his. "Will you wash me? Please?"

It seemed an unseen hand pulled her by a rope across the floor, so reluctantly did she approach him. Frustrated, Mauhûr sat down to appear less threatening. He turned his back to her, though it was difficult to do so. He'd learned at a young age to keep his fellows in his sights, and never to trust one behind him. It seemed all the more important with each rank he earned. Anyone could smile to your face, then stab you in the back. He'd thwarted several attempts, some more successfully than others, in his life.

His back showed those times he hadn't been quite fast enough. By its scars, his back also told her that every now and then, even Mauhûr had disdained the rules set by others.

The touch of the cold cloth upon his shoulder startled him. He would have preferred warm water, and clenched his jaw against a barked reprimand. After all, he hadn't specified.

"Your hands shake," Mauhûr observed quietly, and she froze. "I will not harm you, Fedelm. I promise."

"Yes, pizdur," she whispered, and slowly resumed.

The close hut was warmed by the summer sun outside, and Mauhûr felt soothed by the cool water, the dip and drip of the cloth as Fedelm wetted and wrung it, the distant sounds of the Men demonstrating their skills for Aedan, the quiet within the hut. The feel of her hands, albeit through the cloth, calmed him. He felt his eyelids drooping, and his breathing slowed.

"I... I am finished, pizdur."

Shaken as though from a light doze, Mauhûr frowned and looked over his shoulder at Fedelm. "Am I clean?" he asked.

"Your... your back is, yes," she nodded. She couldn't seem to meet his gaze.

"Am I... do I...," he stammered uncertainly. Huffing at himself for his awkwardness, he asked firmly, "Does my scent offend you?"

Her eyes widened and her mouth shut tightly. She quickly shook her head, but he knew she was lying.

Sighing, he pivoted on his haunches to face her and leaned back on his hands, stretching out his long legs. "Continue, until I no longer offend you."

"Yes, pizdur," Fedelm breathed, her eyes filling with tears. Her hands shook harder, and Mauhûr felt compelled to take them in his.

"Fedelm," he rumbled as gently as he could. "I promise I will do you no harm." Doing his best to convey his sincerity, he released her and leaned back once more. "Only my chest. You needn't wash anything else."

Though she hesitated, and did not meet his gaze while she worked, he could tell that her fears were somewhat eased. They only lessened by a slight degree, but he was so focused upon her scent that he noticed, and was relieved. Her hands upon his chest, however, threatened to undermine his efforts.

Regardless of the crippling fear scent, his member seemed oblivious to Mauhûr's intentions of caution and restraint after Fedelm had scrubbed his belly. He felt it stirring, and attempted to thwart it by his will alone, which proved ineffectual. The woman noticed as soon as his member began to stiffen and rise, and her trembling increased.

So did her fear scent. Only by biting her own lip did she keep her panicked sobbing at bay. Again, Mauhûr reached for her hand and held it firmly. "I will not harm you. But I think... you should stop now." His hold on her hand was barely loosened before she had slipped out of reach, scooting away on her backside until she ran out of room against the hut's wall. There she cowered, her wide, dark eyes fixed upon him as though he were a terrifying monster about to slay her.

Defeat was not something Mauhûr could claim much experience with. He had, perhaps foolishly, set a goal for this visit to reduce her fear enough to allow his touch. Not just holding her hands, he now realized.

Standing, he went to the bedding and sat there for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he paused and looked at the coverlet. It was made of wool, dyed the color of the grasses so often seen growing in clumps in Dunland. Sage, he'd heard it called. He hesitantly laid his hand flat upon it, feeling the softness.

"Fedelm, come here," he said quietly. He flinched slightly at her whimper. It was not his intent to frighten her, yet he was determined to win this battle, and so gain ground. Stretching out on his side, he looked across the hut where she still huddled. "Please," he urged. "I would like for you to lie next to me. That is all."

Slowly, the woman unfolded her limbs and, barely breathing, she rose. Mauhûr tried to smooth his face, relax his brow, look encouraging and benign. Having never seen himself, or another Uruk, with such expressions, he couldn't be certain he succeeded. Each step she took seemed to require all her will to accomplish.

She fears me, yet she bravely faces me, he thought. A very slight smile tugged insistently at one corner of his mouth.

When Fedelm reached the bedding, Mauhûr raised his hand, hoping she'd take it. One of her hands was at her side in a tight fist; the other clutched the front of her dress so that her knuckles were pale.

"Come," he coaxed. "Please."

Avoiding his gaze and his hand, she knelt and turned her back to him. Very slowly, she lowered her body near his and tucked herself into a ball. She shook so much, he could feel it through the bedding.

"Thank you," he purred, and inched a little closer. "I am going to touch you," he warned her, "but I will not harm you." Encouraged by her short, swift nod, yet reminded by her strangled whimper that he had not won anything yet, Mauhûr reached for her.

He began by resting his hand upon her waist. It seemed that in this moment, alone with his mate, he neither needed nor wished to hear Golmud's advice. He could see with his own eyes, feel with his own hand, and smell with his own nose precisely what effect he was having on the woman.

She flinched when he touched her, regardless that he'd given warning, so he left his hand there for more than a minute. Gradually, her erratic breaths calmed a small measure. Moving another inch toward her, he let his hand drift forward and lightly press her belly. Fedelm gasped sharply but did not let go her breath; she held herself tensely, as though waiting for his words to be proven lies.

Patience, he told himself. The battle is not won by hasty actions. Another inch closer, and his chest was nearly touching her back.

"Fedelm," he whispered close to her ear, startling her. "May I hold you close? That is all I want."

"Y-yes, pizdur," she replied shakily.

"Thank you," he said again. With a deep sigh, he curled his body around hers and his arm encircled her waist. She hastily made room for his arm by opening herself up a bit, but she remained tense and unable to breath calmly.

"Ssshh," he murmured, feeling his own body reclaiming that state of quiescence her ministrations had inspired earlier. Eyelids heavy, he rested his cheek upon her hair.

It seemed his eyes had only just closed when the hide flap was pulled aside and Dushrûk entered the hut.

"Pizdur," he said respectfully, "the lads're gettin' restless. I held'em off as long as I could. You better get yourself out there."

Mauhûr met his pizbûr's gaze, then made a show of rising calmly and confidently from the bedding. Fedelm, freed from his arms, seemed to sag with relief. She drew great gulps of air, as though she'd been held underwater for too long. Forcing himself not to see her reaction, nor display any disappointment from the apparent loss in this, their first engagement, Mauhûr began pulling on his armor.

All the while, he could feel Dushrûk's eye on him, and knew he must buy the Uruk's silence. The hide walls were too thin to mask what didn't happen inside.